Black Widow Read Online Free PDF Page A

that particular restaurant before. “This sandwich is greasy, but it’s delicious,” Isis said to Dave, licking her fingers.
    “I told you, Ice.” Dave smiled. “You gotta start trusting me more.” He winked at her.
    “I do trust you, except for your taste in movies. Now that’s another issue altogether.”
    “Jokes, huh?”
    Then Dave saw him.
    The guy was by himself. That would be his second mistake concerning Dave. The first had been when he and his friends thought it was cool to put their hands on him and take something that didn’t belong to them.
    “Boo, wait right here,” he whispered to Isis. “That’s that nigga that took my chain that you gave me.” Dave stood up. “I gotta go take care of something.”
    “No,” Isis begged. “Let it go. It’s not worth it.” Isis wasn’t one to let people walk all over her, but she knew that some battles weren’t worth fighting. She could replace the necklace when she got enough cash. But she knew Dave was nothing like her. He always brought the fire, while she kept her stuff on simmer. And she could tell by the look in her man’s eyes that the flames were about to get out of control.
    The dude was wearing the chain and ordering a hamburger when Dave approached him. Sometimes people were just stupid like that—go around doing dirt to people, then walking the same streets the next day as if everything was sweet. Even cats knew to cover their own piss with litter.
    “That’s a nice piece you got on your neck there, chief,” Dave said from behind the dude. The guy turned around, and recognition slowly crept across his face. “I’m willin’ to forget about the lil’ scuffle,” Dave said, “but I’m gonna have to get my chain up off you. By the way, where’re your other two friends?”
    Unfazed, the dude sized up Dave, who was five feet five inches and a buck thirty-five soaking wet. “Fuck you, lil’ nigga,” he spat at Dave, once he decided that he would be an easy match. “If you know what’s best, you’ll keep it moving before you fuck ’round and lose something else, faggot.”
    That was the dude’s third and final mistake, and in Dave’s book, three strikes and a motherfucker was out. By the time the guy saw the .22-shot Glock come out from under Dave’s shirt, it was too late. In front of 129 witnesses, all hell broke out in the food court. When the ringing from the pistol subsided, Dave had placed thirteen holes in the thief’s body and politely taken his chain from around the dead man’s neck.
    Just after Dave slipped the chain around his neck, an off-duty police officer shot him, and he fell to the ground.
    Isis ran over to Dave, who was on the floor in a puddle of blood. “Help! Help! Somebody help me, please!” Isis begged as Dave lay in her arms bleeding. “Please don’t die, baby. Please don’t die,” she cried as she saw images of her father flash in front of her.
    “Promise me you won’t leave my side,” was Dave’s reply. “I love you.”
    Seeing flashes of her dad and remembering his last words, she told Dave, “I won’t. I promise.”
    In addition to killing the guy, one of Dave’s bullets hit a police officer’s wife. She didn’t die, but still her shooting added fuel to the fire: White folk were tired of young, black, dangerous hoodlums—as the media liked to portray them—terrorizing their city.

    “We have about twenty more minutes before we move over to the death chamber,” the corrections officer said, interrupting Isis’s thoughts. “So at this point feel free to use the restroom if you need to, because this will be your last chance until the execution is over.”
    Isis was glad to be brought back to the present. She used that as her cue to go to the restroom and pull herself together. What had she done? What was she doing there?
I can’t believe that I am even doing this shit,
Isis thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her emotions were all over the place. The love of her life was